


I Have Not Always Been a Good Wife

by DeltaS



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7069123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaS/pseuds/DeltaS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe "could-have-been" story, full of angst and wondering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Not Always Been a Good Wife

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in November 1999

An untamed November wind is howling outside the window; I know it must be whipping up tall waves on the lake. Wispy clouds, in their silver gray shrouds, take turns masking the face of the almost-full moon, their shadows magnified and twisted into bizarre ogres on the slumbering, dormant fields below. November in Indiana has always been a fickle will-of-the-wisp month, with some days bright and warm only to be followed by low clouds of cold and ominous forebodings... a month that seems to mimic death itself by teasing us with false beauty only to snare us into its icy grasp.

Mark is asleep, his deep snores sighing in syncopation with the winds, both providing night music to the dancing clouds. The glow of the chronometer tells me that it is 3 o'clock, but sleep nowadays is erratic. The hour makes for irrational thoughts... remembrances of events long past and people long gone. But once more, I'm disquieted by memories of him... of us. It has been fifteen years, but he haunts me still, with memories twisting my soul in the right and wrong of it. I should regret it all; I should repent of my transgression and rid myself of the guilt. Yet... I feel no guilt... no remorse. I know that I can never regret that it happened, nor deny that I loved him. I have never told Mark about it, nor will I ever; he truly is a good man, and I love him. In a strange way, I loved him, then, too. It was just that there was something about the Maquis leader, Chakotay, and his total captivation of me forever.

Three years before I assumed command of Voyager, I had married Mark Hobbes William Johnson. We had known each other since childhood and through early adulthood, but had lost contact for more than ten years. We were well into our adult lives when we met again. A year before our chance meeting in a park, I had lost, in a devastating accident, the two men who were the dearest to me -- my father, and the man whom I had promised to marry, Justin Tighe. Until that horrific moment, I had been a woman who brushed aside emotions. Then, my world collapsed in on me. If it had not been for the love and patient (and sometimes, not so patient!) understanding of my mother and sister, no telling where circumstances would have taken me.

But then Mark came into my life... wonderful, quiet and gentle Mark! Mark... whom I had always known as Hobbes... living up to the calling of his namesake, becoming one of the bright and shining lights in the most eminent philosophical group in the Quadrant. Over the next six years, our renewed friendship gradually slipped over an invisible line from being good friends into a loving, caring relationship. Each of us was consumed with devotion for our work, yet we seemed to sense the need for the stabilizing influence we had on each other. It was a natural progression, expected and applauded by our families, when we announced that we were going to be married.

The wedding was a somewhat subdued affair. Since we both had been working out of San Francisco, the ceremony was there. On a rare sunny day in August, 2368, we became joined. Admiral Paris stood in for my father; I think I saw the barest gleam of a tear in his eye when I asked him to stand with me. Mark and I were remarkably composed throughout the ceremonies and festivities, attended by about fifty of our friends and family. After a two week honeymoon trip of luxuriant laziness at the foot of a tropical mountain on a planet in the Vega II system, we returned to the hectic lifestyle of two people with dynamic, rising careers.

Our work frequently separated us for long periods of time, but we knew that this was probably always going to be the case. Our time together was all the more precious and significant. We had never really spoken of ever having any children; our dogs seemed to provide us with enough diversion! We were fortunate in that most of the time one of us was present at our homebase when the other was gone, so that our companions were not without both of their "parents" too often. Life became comfortable and we became just another married professional couple in the diverse Starfleet home city.

One of the more flamboyant skills Mark brought into our marriage was a remarkable cooking expertise. My life became one of feast or famine --- when Mark was around, he unwound by playing chef; our table groaned and his reputation grew among our friends. We entertained frequently, and I enjoyed playing hostess to lively dinners and parties with his delectable delicacies as the highlight. We were a good team and we knew it. Life was full and satisfying. But I lacked any culinary skills, not even those necessary for daily survival; when he was gone, I would even forget to eat many days, and he would return to find much less of a wife than he had when he had left! He often teased me about being two different people -- a well nourished Mrs. Johnson and her alter-ego, the caffeine-addicted, gaunt-faced Kathryn Janeway.

It was a frenzied life, but we thrived with its dynamic pace. Mark's career flourished and he became an oft sought-after speaker at symposia and colloquiums throughout the galaxy. My career was a little less straightforward, as I tended to be a little too vociferous at times and rather hasty in some of my decisions... not always based on Starfleet protocol. I never seemed to operate in the moderate range. Starfleet even called me before review boards a couple of times with some of my more, shall we say, flamboyant escapades. Still, they seemed pleased with my command style, and Voyager soon became "my" ship. We received missions that ranged from scientific inquiries of asteroid fields to covert excursions involving the Cardassian conflict. I thrived in both realms... the excitement of a new discovery always brought out my best analytical expertise, while the challenge of secretive assignments allowed adrenaline to surge through me, enervating me with the thrill of danger.

So it was that three years after Mark and I were married, Starfleet called me into a secret session to discuss a delicate state of affairs. The Cardassian situation was not getting any better. Although a tentative treaty was in place, each side remained volatile. Both military and diplomatic strategies had failed to make any headway in alleviating the tenacious circumstances, which were threatening to escalate at any given moment. On top of everything else, a handful of Starfleet personnel had become so disenchanted with the lack of any definitive action on the part of Starfleet that they had taken action into their own hands. Relinquishing allegiance to Starfleet, they had formed a vigilante band of marauders called the Maquis, naming themselves after the French underground of Earth's twentieth century World War II. Like the original Maquis, they lived and fought like feral dogs, hiding in the dark shadows and appearing when least suspected, nipping ferociously at their enemies. Throughout the Alpha Quadrant, small bands of these renegades became a bothersome nuisance to the Cardassians with their hit-and-run tactics. To the Cardassians they were still representatives of the Federation, and their actions did nothing to further the carefully laid diplomatic paths of the latter. To Starfleet, they were an embarrassment -- rebellious children who could not be disciplined.

The Federation had met with some success in quelling the Maquis actions, but at the far edges of the quadrant, there were several cells that seemed to defy any reasoning. In particular was a group that hid well within the turbulent fringe area known as The Badlands, far beyond Deep Space Nine. The leader of this band was a human by the lone name of Chakotay. Years earlier, the Cardassians had brutally invaded and destroyed his homeworld, Dorvan V, leaving him with a legacy of bitter memories. Although educated and trained by Starfleet, Chakotay allowed vengeance to overtake him, and he was now driven by a deep personal need of retribution. Many of his sorties met with success, much to the dismay of a chagrined Starfleet. Now, in light of his successes and their failures, they decided that Chakotay had to be captured and brought "home". Additionally, Starfleet feared for the life of an infiltrator whom they had planted among Chakotay's crew -- a Vulcan tactical officer, Tuvok, with whom I had served on some of my earlier, more tempestuous missions. His rescue --- and the capture of the leader --- made this action a mission of great importance for Starfleet... and Voyager.

The story of our adventure has been retold hundreds of times, from official records and logs of the personal recounts of Voyager's crew, recounting our chase through The Badlands of the Alpha Quadrant. After three weeks, the cat-and-mouse game of our chase through The Badlands suddenly took a cosmic turn. In the midst of a plasma storm, a time/space displacement hurled our two vessels into a subspace rift, landing us, isolated and crippled, five thousand light years into the unknowns of the Delta Quadrant.

Many stories have been told and retold of the exploits of our ships and crew, some based with truth and others laced with fabrication: how the turbulence of the storms wrecked havoc on our vessels, ripping hulls and breaching walls... of the many lives that were lost through the damage, but then of the lives saved by Chakotay's sacrifice of his ship, by aiming and injecting it into the path of an oncoming comet, deflecting it from a course that surely would have destroyed both our ships. He himself was saved only by a last-second transport by Tuvok. Our starting crew of one-hundred and forty-three had lost seventeen people, including my first officer, helmsman, the chief engineer and the ship's doctor. The survivors of Chakotay's brought our ranks back up to one-hundred and forty-one.

For eighty-nine days, we wandered around in the Delta Quadrant, constantly buffeted by ionic and plasma storms, tossed through nebulae and magnetic turbulences, facing unknown enemies and obstacles, attempting to aright ourselves with unknown star systems. We had lost all contact with Starfleet; our many attempts at various ways of communicating with them were futile. The sobering, startling realization set in that indeed we were on our own here; decisions had to be made without the input of my superiors -- I was Starfleet.

At first, I placed all of the Maquis under confinement, but it was soon evident that we needed all bodies to make the necessary repairs to Voyager. On top of that, if we were to find our way back to the Alpha Quadrant, I needed personnel to staff the ship around the clock. Many of the crew still had injuries that prevented them from working at peak efficiency, despite the excellent services of our activated EMH. Even though Tuvok strongly protested my actions, I spoke with the rebel leader and his cohorts. I frankly explained the reality of the situation and the need for us to put our differences aside, at least until we safely returned to the Alpha Quadrant. We needed each other in order to safely survive a return trip, and I was willing to consider them equals with my crew in light of the situation. However, any hint of subversive actions by any one of them would find all of them in the brig, despite any repercussions in the operation of Voyager.

Commander Chakotay tried to negotiate immunity for himself and his crew in exchange for their services aboard Voyager. However, on this I remained unmoved -- that we were equals here, and, if they proved themselves to be trustworthy for the rest of our journey back, I would speak favorably in their defense. But I could not, nor would not, make any promises about any subsequent Starfleet actions. He remained silent for a moment, weighing the options. Then he looked me straight in the eye and extended his hand. "Agreed," he said, with a mysterious smile. It was that look... that touch... that moment... that changed our lives forever. Our handshake transmitted more than an agreement; it spoke silently... electrically... of a promise, a beginning of the forbidden. Our hands lingered in the sealing grip, our fingertips seeming to caress each other as they slowly pulled apart. In that instant, we knew that our lives would be forever entwined, in ways far removed from the political circumstances within which we found ourselves.

Prior to making announcements to the crews, I conferred with Tuvok. I knew that my decision and the incorporation of the Maquis crew with Starfleet would not rest well with him. Even for an unemotional Vulcan, he was bound to have strong reservations. I called him into my ready room, asking him to be seated. His eyes told me that he already knew what I was going to say. But the words that came from my mouth... shocking and spontaneous... startled even me. After confiding in him what had occurred, I added a post script to my planned words: "And, Tuvok... I think the ship would be best served if you remain as the tactical officer, where your skills and talents are best suited. Because of his leadership strengths and abilities to communicate with his former crew, I am going to place Commander Chakotay in the first officer position."

The closest expression to surprise that I had ever seen in him ran across his face. "Captain... do you really that this is a wise decision?"

I looked at him without a hint of emotion. "Yes, I do. We need to show both crews that there is solidarity in the leadership positions. And...," my voice now wavered ever so slightly, " ... and I think that the relationship will prove... beneficial."

Tuvok had known me too long... could read me too easily. He merely looked at me and comprehended my real motives. "If this is your final decision, then I will abide by it. However, I do not think it is prudent from either a professional or personal perspective." His words were perfunctory and precise; I knew that he had seen through me.

"Tuvok, I would hope that this decision will not change our good relationship. I am counting on your continued advice and good counsel," I responded uncomfortably.

"And I would hope that my dubious thoughts about this decision prove to be unfounded," he answered back, his voice firm and absolute.

Cold droplets of perspiration gave rise to the fine hairs on my neck as they rolled down to my back. "I thank you for your comments, Tuvok. You are dismissed."

He rose in silence and left the room.

I had expected an enthusiastic acceptance of my announcement that Starfleet and Maquis crews were now one body, with the mutual objectives of survival in unknown space and finding our way back to the Alpha Quadrant. Instead, an uneasy murmuring swept through the large space of the cargo bay where we had gathered, as the attendees unconsciously moved into two divisive cliques. My good intentions were not well received. Chakotay immediately went to his fellow Maquis and, by animated whispers, I could tell that he was trying to win them over. There were two women in particular whose remarks were quite vociferous in their resentment to the arrangement... a Klingon and a Bajoran. Their hostility was more than verbal; I could sense the unseen crackle of jealousy spark the space between them and me. It was obvious that Commander Chakotay's charms had fallen on fertile and receptive ground aboard the Maquis ship, too, and that it was not going to be only political and military loyalties with which I was going to have to deal.

The mumbling finally began to die down, and Chakotay walked to my side. In a firm, decisive voice, he spoke to the crews but looked straight at me. "Captain Janeway, we accept your offer, and it is my honor and privilege to work under you as your first officer. Our crews will work together to accomplish our safe return to the Alpha Quadrant." Oh, yes; that was the goal of the crew; but his eyes relayed to me a hidden agenda of his own.

We made adjustments to the staffing assignments. It became evident quickly that the two women whom I had noticed earlier were quite proficient in the engineering field. The Klingon woman, B'Elanna Torres, proved herself not only adapt but innovative and imaginative in her capabilities. I suggested that she replace our missing chief of engineering. Chakotay demurred at first, not wanting to cause any more resentment among the Starfleet personnel, but I remained firm and resolved. Finally, he acquiesced to my choice, admitting that, although B'Elanna had a short-fused temper, she knew her business and did it well. Seska, the Bajoran, also appeared to be of a temperamental spirit; however, the challenge of the workload soon occupied most of their time. Inwardly, I felt a smug satisfaction in putting the two Maquis women together in the same section; they could pit their rivalry against each other and not me.

The crew assignments took a long day of negotiating and trade-offs. But, the final roster was one that we felt would work well and allow for a good blend of skills and personalities. Actions and charge of duties had to be made quickly; the ship was in desperate need of attention and repairs, and was the first priority on our agenda. For fourteen long hours, we went from deck to deck, listing and prioritizing actions and jobs: repair of the anti-matter injector, so that we could get the warp drive back on line; finding and welding the hundreds of minute hull breeches on five decks; re-calibrations in stellar cartography; repair of the duranium shields on the port nacelle --- the list seemed endless! Chakotay and I personally oversaw people to their assignments, cautiously sensitive to any friction or bad blood that might surface among the teams. There were the usual uncertainties and grumblings of new and old working together, but at the conclusion of our rounds, we couldn't identify any obvious personality conflicts. Finally satisfied that major problems were being attended to and that there appeared to be reasonable stability within the ranks, we returned to the relative peace and quiet of my ready room.

I went over to my replicator, wanting nothing more now than a hot mug of coffee and to get off my feet for awhile. Chakotay sat down on my sofa, without any invitation from me. I turned at him and said with my typical lopsided grin, "Nice to see that you feel at home, Commander. Would you care to join me in a cup of coffee? I must warn you -- it's quite a weakness of mine."

"Thank you, don't mind if I do," he responded, slowly pulling his hulking body up from the sofa and walking towards me. "I like mine sweet... very sweet," he continued, his voice soft and sensual.

I laughed nervously. "Why am I not surprised? I'm a purist --- just straight forward, non-adulterated black coffee." I called up our requests, and the steaming mugs materialized. I picked up the two coffees, handing his to him. "It's not as good as the real thing; but, out here, I guess this will just have to do."

My hand seemed to be trembling slightly as he took his mug from me, our fingers touching briefly with the exchange. He smiled back at me. "Oh, I don't know. Who knows? This just might be the real thing, and what we left behind may be the illusion."

We each took tentative sips of the hot beverage, testing the waters as it were. We stood there, saying nothing, just looking at each other, savoring the taste of the moment. Then, he silently took my mug from my hands, and placed it, along with his, on the nearby table,. His hands, warmed by the mugs, cradled my face and he leaned down towards me.

Just before our lips met, I managed to echo Tuvok's admonishing words from earlier. "Do you think this is wise?" I asked feebly.

"Probably not," he said, with a decisive nod of his head. And then he slowly and deliberately kissed me.

I knew it was wrong, and yet I could not help myself. Warnings of all sorts were going off inside me. In one instant, I had broken vows I had made to Starfleet and my marriage, vows that until the day before I thought would be eternal. Here I stood, Kathryn Janeway, pillar of duty and honor, loyal and loving wife, turning into a quivering mass of flesh, succumbing to a temptation that I had never imagined. For one brief moment I thought He is using me; this is his way of owning me; controlling me. However, I could sense the same feeling of experiencing the untried and unknown in him that ran through me. We were both locked onto the same path, traveling into the unexplored realms of ourselves as well as the uncharted territories of the Delta Quadrant.

The need for the stimulation of coffee was quickly forgotten, as our hands and mouths and bodies brought to life their own exhilaration. Promises made were now promises broken, as we fell into each other under the cold, dark reflections of the loneliness of the Delta Quadrant. Right or wrong, we were together in a way that we both knew had been inevitable. Our physical communion came from infinity, from dimensions neither of us knew or understood. The only thing that seemed to matter was that we had found each other, at this place and in this time. Anything that was before or anything that would follow was inconsequential. Words were not necessary, as our bodies conversed and cavorted in their own form of communication. The sterile air of my ready room took on a primal scent, an aromatic blend of the pungency of physical exertion and the pungent alkaline muskiness of sexual energy. We were marking our territory, one of many, many territories around Voyager that would be similarly imprinted before the end of our trip.

Our initial consummation was eager and intense; all of our fears and frustrations surfaced in the ferocity of our lovemaking. I became a person that I never knew existed, and I sensed that he felt the same way. By the time we fell back onto the sofa, drained of any remaining energy, the glowing smiles on our faces told us the answer we each sought: we had found in each other a match that neither of us had ever experienced before and that we would never find again. Two kindred spirits, pulled from time and space, at last in harmony. Then, like true soldiers, we regrouped and prepared ourselves to present a stoic, professional appearance as we left my ready room; it seemed no one was the wiser to the unleashed passion which lingered on the captain's sofa.

Chakotay left the room first, assuming the conn chair on the bridge. I waited an interminable thirty-five minutes before making my appearance; I exited from my office, walked across the bridge, and went to my quarters.

The following morning, before I left my quarters, Chakotay buzzed me. "We've got to talk before we go to the bridge," he said, his voice heavy with a foreboding darkness. A thought went through my head, My god... it was a one-night stand! He had his way and now I'll join a long list of his conquests that probably spans the galaxy. With anxious apprehension, I invited him to my quarters. Our living areas were adjacent, but we had yet to visit each otherï¿½s home space.

He was there within seconds, his face stormy and harboring a smoldering anger, something I had not seen in him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he seethed, with a fury that I have seen since.

His words caught me off guard. "Wha... what?" I asked, backing away from him. The doors closed ominously behind him.

His eyes immediately began to methodically scan the room, circling the space like an animal searching for its prey. Suddenly they stopped, focusing on the silver framed picture on my desk. He stretched out his arm and pointed at it accusingly. "Him... you never told me about him! Why didn't you tell me that you are married?"

I ran over to him, grabbing him and trying to placate the surfacing beast. "Chakotay... I... I... didn't mean to..."

His eyes were dark and hard. "No, you didn't. Tuvok just happened to mention it today over breakfast -- 'Commander, has the captain informed you of her husband?'" His words took on the tone of his eyes. "Is that the way you planned for me to find out... to have one of your subordinates break the unpleasant news... or were you just presuming that I never would find out? Maybe you would remember it just as we stepped off Voyager back on Earth -- 'Oh, by the way, Chakotay -- I'd like you to meet my husbandï.' "

I was flustered, not knowing what to say. "No... no... I really meant to, but..."

"Kathryn, I may have broken Starfleet rules in the past, but I donï¿½t believe in breaking moral codes..."

I was shaking, scared for both of us now. I reached up to his face, stroking him... trying to calm him. "I know; I didn't mean to either. Chakotay... I didn't mean for any of this to happen, especially us. And yes... Mark is my husband; I am married. I... I was going to tell you. But then... yesterday happened... and... and..." I started shaking, almost to the point of convulsing.

My emotions seemed to drain the anger from him. He took my hands into his, and he calmed as he became the comforter. "Shhh... shhhh... I know; I know. Neither of us did. But... it *did* happen, and we've got to address it right now."

I sighed and pulled away, realizing the logical next step. "So. That's it. We pretend that this never happened... that we aren't here... that we don't love each other."

He smiled for the first time since he walked... no, stormed... into the room. "That's it, isn't it? Three days and we know it. I do know it; I feel that I've loved you forever, Kathryn... that I've known you all my days, and just now have found why I've ached all my life. Why now... in this godforsaken place... and with you --- wonderful you." He continued holding me close, covering my head with kisses and caressing my shoulders and back in small, soothing circles until my shaking subsided. In movements we knew we were born to, he kissed me.

He knew this was wrong; I knew it was wrong. But never had anything so wrong felt so right. And we knew that the problem was not going to go away. I pulled away from his embrace and silently walked over to my desk. I picked up the picture of Mark and took it to my recycler, pushing the operating pad as easily and without feeling as if I were clearing away dishes from a meal. It disappeared without a trace of its ever having existed. If only the tumult of our emotions could have been handled as simply.

To this day, I think Tuvok was the only one who could truthfully say that the relationship between Voyager's captain and first officer went beyond the good friends we seemed to become. But he remained silent then, just as he has all these years. We were always discreet. Our time alone was usually brief; at first it almost seemed that we avoided being in each other's presence, for fear of our feelings becoming public. However, in those precious stolen moments, we fell into each other like famished animals, feeding off the residual tensions and frustrations that consumed us. It seemed, particularly in the early days, that the intensity of our relationship was directly proportional to the number of problems or the level of danger we faced. Our actions were fueled further by the nagging knowledge of our transgressions. Oh, perhaps there was some gossip a few times, but we played along with it and tossed it off casually. Our public appearances together slowly became more frequent, and, whether on duty or off, reflected a growing and caring friendship. Soon, this was the accepted opinion.

It is difficult to believe, but the sites of most of our trysts turned out to be the places where it was expected for a captain and first officer to sequester themselves to analyze the operations of the ship: ready rooms, briefing room, a cargo bay, shuttlecraft dock, even a deserted sickbay with the EMH deactivated. But our favorite was a small forgotten storage area on deck 11. The deserted area provided us with much-needed privacy, and Chakotay even managed to set it up with a force field, keeping it sequestered from the ever-vigilant scans of security. We salvaged a few furnishings from vacant quarters, and added personal touches that made it "our" place... twenty square meters that became our haven within the tempest; a solitary confinement shared by two, imprisoning us yet freeing us. Hardly a day's cycle went by that we didn't find ourselves drawn to our sanctuary, allowing us to bask in the heaven we had found.

As for the predicament in which all of us found ourselves, we decided that a fight for group survival proved to be the strongest motivator. The self-inscribed lines of divisiveness between Starfleet and Maquis personnel slowly disappeared (or, at least became less noticeable), and camaraderie grew. I'm not saying that tensions and conflicts disappeared completely -- when mistakes were made, the difference in political backgrounds was usually the first excuse offered. But the close quarters and the desire to get back alive helped bond our survivors. Crises became the norm, as we made repairs only to find another system being assaulted by the unknowns of our surroundings, and constant hard work became our healing hand.

My life existed as a problem solver and resource allocator, with long, exhausting and frequently frustrating days. Many days, I reverted back to my old habits of existing on adrenaline and caffeine, a combination that wasn't the best of nourishment for my body... or anyone's! I always seemed to be living at the edge. One evening, about six weeks into our journey in the Delta Quadrant, Chakotay came to my ready room to review the latest position projections from stellar cartography. On my desk sat an uneaten plate of vegetable stew, its contents starting to congeal and shrivel. I continued to sip from the perpetually present cup of coffee in my hand. He looked down at the uneaten food, then up at my drawn face.

"Kathryn, you haven't eaten your meal."

I shook my head vehemently, "Not hungry. Besides, we have other problems more important."

"Wasted replicator rations can be included in that list of problems," he continued, "We started out with a three-month supply, and they are now almost half-depleted."

I nodded my head in agreement. "Yes, I know; I'll recycle what I haven't eaten."

"And just what are we going to do if these habits of yours then cause us to lose the services of our captain? Kathryn, you know very well that one of the things we are taught in command school is to keep our crews well nourished," he persevered.

"I'll survive. This is just me, Chakotay. You should know that by now."

He came over, and wrapped his arms around my body and smiled gently. "Yes, but you are shrinking on me, and I don't want to lose you."

"Well, maybe you are one of the reasons I've lost my appetite," I retorted, as I pulled him down for one of his addictive kisses. "Love seems to do that sometimes."

"But... we can'½t live off of love alone," he came back with a grin. "Seriously, Kathryn, I do think that we should start looking into finding a way to supplement our rations. The crew is starting to grumble some, and perhaps some real food might boost morale." He held out his padd to me. "I asked Tuvok to make some long range scans for any planets that might support life, to see if we could take on some supplies. Who knows? We might even find a source for dilithium crystals."

I pulled away from him, cognizant of the validity of his words -- the realization that it would be months... maybe even years... before we returned to the Alpha Quadrant was not a new proposition to me. I, too, had been thinking about contingency plans. So far, we had purposefully avoided making contact with any intelligent life forms in the Delta Quadrant, in fear of any violation of the Prime Directive. But, the time was rapidly approaching when I knew that we would have to take this risk. I sighed, anticipating possible breeches of diplomacy with any species outside of the protective arms of the Federation.

"I know. I've been thinking about this, too. I'm watching poor Samantha Wildman, as her pregnancy progresses, and realize that the poor woman should have some real food. And... if weï¿½re not back before her baby comes, we'll have to worry about providing for the baby, too. So... have you found anything? What do you suggest?"

He came over, handing me his padd, as excited as a schoolboy with a new hologame. "Yes... here! About nine light years away, there's an M-class planet... inhabited and lush with vegetation. Our scans also show that the population equals us in technologies, complete with warp capabilities, so we would not be breaking any rules." His eyes looked into mine. "Well, not any more than we have already." I gave him a hard glare back.

"Do they know that we're here?" I asked, concerned about detection of our presence, possibly as an aggressor.

"Not yet. Remember... we were looking for something; they may not have any need to be concerned."

"Mm," I responded, trying to think ahead. "All right. Try to make contact, but make it look casual. We don't want to be identified as hostile."

"Understood," he responded, turning to leave. "I'll be back shortly." He paused momentarily, his head glancing menacingly over his shoulder. "And... Kathryn, I want to know that you've eaten something. You'½re going to need a some energy when I come back, and I don't want you passing out on me."

"Out!" I cried out, half-laughing. Oh, he knew me all too well! I walked back to my desk and gobbled down the stew.

Chakotay's initial contact with our mystery planet was with a solo vessel, found entering the outer areas of the planet'½s airspace. The small ship was occupied by a lone trader whose name was Neelix. A small, bewhiskered man, he proved to be genial and jovial, anxious to make our acquaintance. He said that he had heard stories of a solitary vessel in their area, who seemed harmless, keeping to itself. He wondered what its mission might be, and if there would be any merit in making contact. He seemed delighted that we sought him out.

I introduced myself, and briefly described our situation. He was very sympathetic with our plight. And, yes, he was from the planet we had located. It was called Talax, and he knew that we would be welcome to visit and barter as necessary. "Oh... by the way... what do you have that might interest us?" he queried good-naturedly.

I answered with an embarrassed shake of my head. "I'm afraid we don't have that much to offer. But, I'm sure that we can find something."

And that we did. It seems that the people of Talax enjoyed nothing better in their leisure time than sitting around and listening to stories and then incorporating them into holodeck programs. The little man was practically beside himself with glee at the prospect of gaining a whole new library of Alpha Quadrant tales of valor and romance for use in their fantasy activities. So it was that we copied volumes of our programs for the exuberant Talaxians, and we, in return, received several megatons of Talaxian foodstuffs, including an item that seemed to be a mainstay in their diet, something called a leola root. They gave us several live plants of the vegetation, assuring us that it had many useful purposes, and that we would not be able to do without it. They also were able to provide us with several grams of dilithium crystals, for which I personally sighed in relief.

Before we left, the wonderful folk of this generous society insisted on having a lavish feast in celebration of our new-found friendship. Chakotay made arrangements so that all of the crew could spend a few hours planetside, as reward for their hard work over the past weeks. Nothing could have been a better treat for anyone; the time spent on the planet seemed to be worth tenfold in its re-creation and morale building for the crew. And our initial Talaxian friend, Neelix, couldn't have been happier. He himself seemed to take Samantha Wildman under his protective wing, making certain that she received extra supplements for her personally, to aid in her continued health while incubating new life. "Children are very special here on Talax," he told her. "And I know that this baby will be very special." As we left, she hugged the little man, planting a thankful kiss on his orange whiskers. "Thank you for everything, Neelix; I will never forget you," she said. His only answer was a huge blush.

The festivities and camaraderie on Talax provided us with opportunities to share information about our travels and to get information about the area of space ahead. I very cautiously broached the subject that we had detected residue traces of signature particles indicating the presence of a species which gave us quite a bit of concern. I asked if they had ever heard of a race called the Borg. At the mere mention of the word, an eerie silence fell upon the room. Oh, yes; they had heard of the Borg. So far, they had not had any encounters, but they knew that the race consumed anything and anyone in its path. They also had been told that presumably, if you did not bother them, they would not other you. But, yes; the Borg were very much present in this quadrant. Chakotay and I looked at each other, our minds going to an immediate red alert. It was not going to all be the fun and games and coziness of Talax in going home; we were more than likely going to have to face the Borg at some time or another.

Ten days later, we knew that an encounter with the Borg was inevitable. Long range sensors picked up indication a two cubes headed our way, obviously honed in on our vessel. I pulled up all known reports of Starfleet engagements with this nemesis, none of which was comforting. Picard had his obsession, as did Asamov. Sisko still reeled with psychological scars from the devastation at Wolf 359. No one came out of facing the Borg without some agonizing legacy. Assimilation was not infutile, but psychological survival was.

After hours of agonizing, I decided to brainstorm my plans with Chakotay. I had decided to face them head on, and negotiate for safe passage. I was even ready to offer myself to them for the good of Voyager.

Chakotay... my dear, sweet always-in control Chakotay... became an enraged madman in response to my suggestion, protesting that no way would this annihilative collective stand for one person to barter for the sakes of another conquest for them. He told me that I was committing suicide with even the thought of such a proposition. He even went so far as to tell me another one of his quaint little parables, this time something about a fox and a scorpion crossing a river together. Isn't it strange? To this day, I don't remember the details of the story, but I remember where he stood when he told it... the expression on his face.., the pleading tone of his voice.

"Kathryn, they will assimilate you in an eyeblink, and Voyager will be next. These machines do not negotiate; it's not in their disposition. There is *no way* we can win! I say that we steer clear and avoid them at all costs. We have the warp drive back on line; I suggest that we get out of their space as quickly as possible. There is no disgrace in retreating from imminent destruction. Let's get the hell out of here as soon as possible."

The combination of my Irish stubbornness and my innate scientific curiosity remained absolute. "I disagree. If we get close enough to them, we just may be able to tap into their databanks and learn how they can travel among all the quadrants. Don't you see, Chakotay... they have knowledge from all over! We can make use of their gathered knowledge from past conquests to find a way home!"

"But not by risking one-hundred and forty-one lives!" he continued. "Damn it, Kathryn; what you're asking is for all of us to be willing to lose our lives for one slim possibility of gaining just a little bit of knowledge! I say we leave this area as quickly as possible, and look for more allies like the Talaxians, who can gradually show us paths back to the Alpha Quadrant. Better to be out here for several years than risk everything on martyrdom. You might be willing to do it, but I'm not... and I think that I speak for the rest of the crew when I say they aren't either."

I drew in a deep breath. I knew that the plan wouldn't sit well with him, but I was unprepared for his total rejection. "Chakotay, I'm not asking the entire ship to take a chance. This is me -- just me. I offer to beam aboard one of the cubes to negotiate. We stay in constant contact. If it seems that an agreement cannot be reached, then you beam me out, and we hit them with our photon torpedoes. Even if it does not destroy them, it certainly will incapacitate them long enough for us to go to highest warp and get away from them."

He was still fuming, pacing the floor like a caged targ. "I won't let you do it. They won't let you on board without being assimilated. Kathryn, this is disastrous; you can't be thinking logically about potential outcomes. The ship can't afford to lose you." He grabbed my shoulders with a strength I had never known before. "*I* can't afford to lose you!!" he cried out, his voice nearly hysterical.

But I was resolved. "Chakotay, we can't let an opportunity like this escape. We *can* outrun the cube; all our systems are in top operating condition... and the photon torpedoes have been modified based on the information we received from the Talaxians. It is my duty to further Starfleet intelligence by carrying out this operation."

He backed away, seeing that it was futile to continue the discussion. It was the one time I have ever seen him nearly broken, even during the horrendous days yet to come. It was obvious that he had seen a side of me that he couldn't bear to witness; I was a different person from the one whom he held and loved in private moments, and he was not able to understand this predatory side of the woman he loved. Before he had a chance to say anything more, I summoned a meeting of the senior staff. Unlike the civil outcome of our first encounter, this time I had truly defeated him; he stood immobile in the room, a shattered man.

The assembled command staff responded with awestruck horror as I revealed my proposed plan. Tuvok sat staring straight ahead, his eyes totally without emotion. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres kept looking at Chakotay, with silent pleas for him to talk me out this madness. He, too, was cold and rocklike. Young Harry Kim's face paled to another pallid tone with each sentence. I assured them that the risk would be all mine, but that, with their cooperation and known skills, there would be minimal danger to me -- or us! -- I was counting on them for that. Tuvok ascertained that indeed modifications had been made to the photon torpedoes and B'Elanna assured me that the warp core had not been in better shape since she had taken over. The meeting was brief but implicit. We would confront the Borg, and I would offer to board their cube to negotiate safe passage.

Everyone silently filed out of the room, intent on last minute preparations. Our confrontation was anticipated to take place in three hours. Chakotay alone remained in the hushed briefing room. He stood, stone-still, his eyes dark with sorrow and fear. "Kathryn, for one last time... don't do this; it is madness!"

I turned to face him, feeling the pain in his voice, seeing the terror in his face. "I've made my decision, Chakotay," I said, my voice firm.

He shook his head, looking even more defeated than earlier. "I don't know you anymore," he whispered huskily. He turned, without looking at me again, and left.

I was alone in the room. Tears welled in my eyes, feeling the severed cord between us. "Then," I whispered into the void of nothingness, "I truly am alone."

The next twelve hours of my life proved to be the darkest ones I have ever experienced, even exceeding the trauma of those months following my father's and Justin's deaths. Living with unpopular command decisions was an occupational hazard for Starfleet captains, but this time, I felt that the repercussions would be personal. The plan *had* to work.

I cannot even begin to describe my feelings when the Borg responded to my request to come aboard their cube to discuss possible options. First, the overwhelming emptiness of the space into which I was beamed, surrounded by nothing but echoes of their being... the fathomless area that encompassed me... the realization that I was small and insignificant and mortal. But I kept talking... questioning... probing... learning more about this predator of the galaxy. Time passed, and I had yet to be confronted by any Borg drones. As the multi-voiced monotone continued communicating in its laconic voice, either in response to my queries or in demands of their own, my eyes were never still... searching... scanning... looking for something that would aid us in our predicament.

After what seemed to be hours.... some of which were filled with total silence... deadly, chilling absolute silence... I saw something on a nearby station. Instinct told me that the small box held answers, that this was our salvation. I would have to move swiftly, because I knew the moment I grabbed it that any peaceful solution would prove impossible; the drones would be swarming on me, and resistance indeed would be futile; I could possibly end up like Picard... or worse.

Steeling myself for action that must be synchronized to a split second, I braved my first communication with Voyager, where I knew the crew was sitting in an agonized wait. "Harry, on my command, beam me back and then, Tom -- get us the hell out of here." I didn't wait for their response; I just prayed that they had heard me. I darted for the black metallic box in one swift lunge, grabbing it and pulling it loose from the area. Alarm signals immediately rang out, and a cold chill ran through me as I heard the whirrs of activated drones.

"Now, Harry!" I screamed, hitting my commlink, almost immediately sensing the prickle of my molecules shimmering into space. As I materialized in Voyager's transporter room, I rocked with the sudden shift to warp drive. Good boy, Tom, I smiled. I knew that I could count on you!

I hurried to the bridge, where I was greeted with restrained but relieved welcomes. Immediately, I went to Harry, handing him my salvaged treasure. He gave me a quizzical look, as I explained. "I think it's a nerve center containing much of their database. Let's look into what it contains."

"Aye, aye, Captain," he answered excitedly. "On my way to engineering right now." The enthusiastic young man took off, fervor in his actions.

I then turned my attention to Tuvok. "Mr. Tuvok, do we have company yet?" I asked.

"They are pursuing us, Captain, but as yet, we are out of range for any weapons. I have long-range phasers armed and ready, and photon torpedoes on stand-by," he responded perfunctorily.

"Hold our fire until itï¿½s absolutely necessary. I'm hoping that we can outrun them long enough to try to uncover a few of their nasty little secrets," I commented.

"Understood," he answered.

And now I had to address my worst critic. There was no surprise from anyone on the bridge with my next order; they knew that Chakotay and I were at divergent sides with our views regarding the face-off with the Borg.

"Commander, may I see you in my ready room?" I inquired calmly.

Even though every one around us was engaged in a multitude of duties, every set of eyes followed him as he responded to me. "Yes, Captain." And everyone wondered what fury would be exchanged in that waiting room.

Inside the closed room, we stood speechless, waiting for the other to initiate conversation. I was not going to apologize, and he knew it. Neither was he going to back away from his original opposition -- what I had done was foolhardy; I had risked not just myself but the lives of one-hundred and forty other crew members. Seconds of silence led into longer moments, until I finally spoke.

"Chakotay, what I did you would have done, too, if say... it had been you as a Maquis and your chance to learn more about the Cardassians. Yes, I admit that it was risky and that I put us all in a very dangerous position. And I blatantly went against Starfleet protocol by stealing. But... I believe that we have made an important blow against the Borg, and that ultimately our discoveries will help the entire galaxy stand up against their forces."

He turned away from me and walked over to the large window above the sofa. "Perhaps," he muttered, contemplating the deep space outside. "Or, maybe you have just given them all the more reason to plunder and assimilate." He turned and again looked at me. "Kathryn, youï¿½ve changed. And I don't know that I like it."

A chill colder than the immobilizing one I had felt on the Borg cube slowly shivered down my back. "Chakotay, we knew that it would be difficult to keep our personal and professional lives separate when decisions like this had to be made. I know that you disagreed with my decision, but itï¿½s your duty... your obligation... as a good first officer, to challenge risky orders. However, sometimes I work off of instinct, when logic just doesnï¿½t figure into the solution; this is one of these times. Please try to understand where Iï¿½m coming from on this."

I walked over to him, standing behind him and encircling his waist with my arms. He neither pulled away nor responded. I laid my cheek, now hot and flaming with mingled emotions, against his rigid back. "Do you know what kept me sane in those hours aboard the Borg cube? My thoughts about you... about us. I couldn't believe, after all we have been through, that I would never be able to be with you again. Voyager will return home, and it will be not because of me, it will be because of us together. I truly believe that this is fate's purpose for us... neither of us could do it alone, but together we can accomplish this impossible task."

I felt some of the tenseness disappear from his inflexible body; his head moved with a slight nod of comprehension and his chest shuddered with several short breaths. I continued my backward embrace in silence, willing my own breath hushed even though I was clamoring for the healing of deep inhalations, to calm my increasingly trembling body. Again we stood in aching silence for an interminable period of time. Finally, he took each of my clasped hands into one of his, and broke the stifling grip. He released one hand momentarily, turning to face me, and then once more took my hands into his grasp before continuing.

"Kathryn I can't deny that this whole incident has injured me... no, us. I did not agree with you initially, nor do I now. You are quite correct in that there seems to be a force much greater than our two small entities driving our actions. But I'm going to need some time to comprehend the complexity of it. I still love you... that will never change. But... I need some time... for now."

I wasn't surprised. It hurt... oh, how it hurt!... but his confession that his love was still there eased the piercing pain. For all of his violent past history, I had never known a man with more sensitivity or compassion. Anyoneï¿½s pain was his pain; any injury was his injury. He had to absorb... place into perspective... the actions of a cold Kathryn Janeway. I gently pulled my hands out from the comfort of his warm grasp and backed a pace away, nodding, my eyes stinging and bright and hot.

"I understand," I said softly.

He turned and left.

The doors no sooner closed than my commbadge buzzed.

"Captain, you do know that you should be in sickbay right now, don't you?" the voice of our EMH asked, his tone heavy with its usual sarcastic tone. "You've been where very few other mortals have been allowed, and it's my duty to check you out before you attempt anything that might harm either yourself or others."

I sighed, knowing that I had violated yet another regulation. "On my way," I stated, not wanting to alienate yet another staff member.

Over the next two duty shifts, engineering examined and dissected and analyzed my find from the Borg vessel. It was finally described as a distribution node, like a convoluted nest of assimilated data. Many of the files were incomplete, apparently once linked to, but now severed from, similar nodes aboard the cube. But there were two seemingly intact files that turned out to be priceless to us: a mapping of this area of the quadrant and the description of a form of travel technology, assimilated from a race merely know as "Species 8472", called slipstreams. The combination of these two discoveries gave all of us a new hope that indeed, we could and would get back home. Stellar cartography worked round the clock with Tom and Chakotay, as a known course could now be plotted. The only problem was that we were still almost twenty-eight hundred light years away... two and a half Earth years away, continuing at top warp speed.

The real excitement arose when B'Elanna and Harry asked me if they could present their findings about the slipstrings at a staff meeting. The two young people practically tripped over each other's words as they revealed that the slipstrings were an area in subspace that utilized time jumps, that would allow us to travel over long ranges at almost 300 times that of warp travel. They had decoded information that would enable them to design modifications to the warp system and allow us to utilize the slipstream technology. They had even drawn up a duty roster with staffing that could facilitate the revisions in about a weekï¿½s time. The trip would take us longer than going through a wormhole -- probably a couple of hours -- but it would cloak our presence from any other vessels, including the Borg. The six of us -- B'Elanna, Harry, Tom, Tuvok and Chakotay and I -- bantered around the pros and cons of such an endeavor. After much discussion, we decided to go through with the project, but that we would utilize numerous holodeck simulations to test its efficacy before we put it on-line and attempted it. The meeting concluded and I immediately verified to the entire crew the good news that they had heard rumored for a couple of days... that indeed, we had gleaned important information from the Borg -- the description of a technology that could give us a possible shortcut back home.

Spirits and morale became the liveliest that they had been since our visit on Talax. I even saw a smile on Chakotay's face; it was good to see him happy again.

I spent the next seven hours immersed in the busy atmosphere of engineering, where B'Elanna was in her glory supervising the initiation of the slipstream programming. I was on the floor, working with Joe Carey, trying to untangle a Medusa-head of wires, when my commbadge buzzed.

"Captain, I know that you're busy," came Chakotay's voice, "but when you have a moment, could you please come to deck 11? There's something I'd like to share with you." I smiled... deck 11, hmmm? There was only one place that I knew he could be on deck 11. I got up, and whispered my response. "I'm in engineering right now, and am... well... a little dirty..."

"I don't mind," he answered. I could see the twinkle in his eyes.

"On my way," I said, brushing myself off and moving to leave. B'Elanna looked over at me, but I spoke before she could. "B'Elanna, keep up the good work. I've just been alerted to a rather... urgent situation." Her look was one of puzzlement, but she soon turned her attention back to work, dedicated to the task at hand.

I reached "our" room, the doors opening as if in expectation of my arrival. The lights were low, and two large pillar candles glowed on the small table on the far side of the room. A sweet pungency filled the air with a spicy aroma warming it. I thought I was alone at first until I saw him in the shadows. He seemed larger than ever in the reflected candlelight. His arms stretched out towards me, welcoming me back into his life. Neither of us said anything; we were both still too stubborn for apologies. But none were needed. Our actions spoke more than words ever could. My arms went around his neck, wearied of their emptiness of the last few days. His fingers stroked my face, anxiously reacquainting themselves with favorite touches. Our lips absolved each of us from our doubts in each other, seeking absolution, seeking secret places, seeking shared ecstasy once more.

While the rest of the crew worked on ways to save Voyager, we worked on saving ourselves. Slipstream technology could not be any more thrilling or full of promise than the paths onto which our bodies and spirits led us in those stolen moments. Reaching and stretching for places not known... delectable delight with our discoveries... our successes fueling us to go further and further... we spanned the entire universe in our little world on deck 11. Our universe was once more in harmony.

Work on the slipstream modifications continued at a frenzied pace, but progress was not always smooth. We ran eleven holodeck simulations before everyone was satisfied with the changes. Harry became the biggest worrywart about the whole thing, agonizing over each calculation and potential aberration to the path. Finally, he was satisfied. We ran through the entire process three more times; we were ready.

The actual changes in the physical plant and the operating systems took only a day and a half. At its completion, I decided that a long-overdue celebration was needed, and arranged for an old-fashioned "launching" to lead us into the final leg of our odyssey. Tom even volunteered a stashed -- and illegal! -- bottle of champagne for the honors. Chakotay and I didn't say anything but thanks to his offer. We invited the entire crew to engineering for the launch late that afternoon, and it turned into a real celebration. The air was alive with hope and anticipation; another eighteen hours and Voyager would be home.

Through the din of merriment, I saw a curtain drop over Chakotay's face. His thoughts were those of mine... another eighteen hours and we would have to face the realities of the worlds and lives we had left behind almost four months ago... worlds and lives that were changed forever.

As the jubilant crowd thinned out, I walked over to him and quietly asked, "Join me for dinner... in my quarters?"

He smiled at me, his expression heavy with melancholy. "Of course," he whispered. Then we left, to prepare for our last hours as the combined staff and crew of Voyager.

Chakotay arrived at the appointed time, not in uniform, but casual in the comfortable clothes that I had learned to love. We paused by the door, allowing ourselves the luxury of a slow, deep kiss. Our hands began a pleasurable journey up and around and about our bodies, a trip that soon could not be repeated. Finally, I backed away, and, like a school girl showing off a prize science project, I shyly led him over the table. I had "borrowed" china and crystal and linens from the officers' mess, and, as the centerpiece, there was a large tureen, filled with steaming contents. He leaned over the table and inhaled deeply.

"Ah, it smells delicious, Kathryn! What did you replicate?" he asked.

I gave him a light jab into the arm. "I beg your pardon; this is no replication, I'll have you know! I've cooked for you tonight, Chakotay; it's a recipe of my grandmother's called biryani."

He laughed lightly. "You actually cooked? Let me alert sickbay!" he teased. He lifted the lid off the tureen. "Mmmmm.... really, this smells delicious and I'm famished."

"Right this way," I said with a flourish of my hand, offering him a seat and ladling large portions of the thick stew onto our plates.

We were both hungry; it had been a long day. Yet, we both stopped suddenly, our plates still half-full but realizing that we couldn't eat anymore. Small talk about the day and the crew became labored as we put off the inevitable conversation... of where we would be tomorrow... of where we would be with our lives. We reached out our hands to one another, bridging the space across the table, our fingertips creating a tent over the ignored remains of our meal.

"Chakotay"...

"Kathryn"...

Our voices spoke in unison. We laughed nervously, our faces flushed and anticipating, like two novice lovers. "You first," I said softly with a nod, intertwining my fingers with his.

"No... you," he responded, as if in deference to my rank.

"Chakotay..." my voice wavered , "for once in my life, I don't have a plan for what is going to happen. I... I... don't know what I'll do... what my reactions will be."

He gazed into my eyes, his own clouded with concealed concern, an apprehensive smile on his face. "I have an idea I know where I'll be... and it's going to be someplace not much bigger than our special place... complete with force fields and guards."

I shook my head, not wanting to even think about the possibility of him being incarcerated. "No; surely they won't do anything like that. As soon as weï¿½re within communication range, Iï¿½m sending Starfleet my summary report on our journey... informing them how invaluable you and your crew have been. With all the intelligence we can provide for them... all the new technologies we've learned... species we've encountered... you will be just as valuable a resource to them as I. Don't sell yourself short, Chakotay."

"Mm," he murmured, kissing each of my fingertips, slowing down sensuously as he reached the last three. "We'll see. But I don't know if they will be so forgiving and understanding as you have been, Kathryn," he said, looking up at me with a devilish gleam. "I don't know that I can solve my differences with them as easily as I have with you."

"And I wouldn't even want you to think about using that approach with them," I chuckled back. He was awakening the sleeping beast within me, and I knew that we probably would not approach my concerns. Mark... sweet, patient Mark, who was the innocent victim of our liaison... Mark, whom I had disserved, even from the other side of the galaxy. If I left him, the scandal would ruin him socially and professionally, and I didn't even want to think about what it would do to him personally. I was willing take the risk myself, but couldn't bear the thought of destroying him. Without a word being spoken, we both I knew at that moment what I was going to do. But, tonight was ours... tonight, all our yesterdays and tomorrows would be united into an eternity.

We got up from the table, not wanting to waste a nanosecond of this last time together. We touched and tasted each other. Our eyes recording sights to be locked away, to last us a lifetime; our voices caressed each other, as we spoke lovingly of nevers and forevers. Hands and arms... legs and feet... lips and tongues and tears... all merged into one joined being. Again and again we gave to each other the gift that only we could give. Finally, in an exhaustion that consumed body and soul, we slipped into restless sleep, cradled in each other's arms.

We both awoke with a start, within moments of each other. Our faces were only inches apart; our eyes not wanting to blink. He leaned into me and kissed me. "I've got to be getting back to my quarters, and I know you have things to do, too."

I nodded silently. As soon as he got out of the bed, my world took on an eternal coldness; I wondered if I would ever be warm again. "Yes; we both do," I agreed. I watched him as he picked up his clothes from the night before, strewn in a rumpled heap and mingled with pieces of my own attire. He handed me my clothes, and I got out of the bed. We dressed quickly... silently... not being able to bear the sight or sound of the carnal images we both loved.

Three hours -- that was all the time that was left to us. Three hours and we would be back on Earth. We stood about two meters apart; in three hours, two meters, for all the good it would do us, could be two hundred thousand light years. Heroics or not, cooperation or not, Chakotay and his band were going to have to face the consequences of their original actions; but we knew that whatever came of punitive decisions made by Starfleet, that we could bear their castigating aftermath. It was Mark that separated us... good, faithful Mark, whom I had not meant to hurt. I could not just walk out on a marriage that had been good; I could not desert a man who still loved me and waited for me.

I couldn't look at him; one glance and I would shatter like ice crystals on the dark side of Stravor's farthest moon. I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs as if preparing for a deep dive. "Chakotay... I... I don't know if I can leave you," I finally whispered huskily.

I could sense him moving closer. Through his warm breath, I felt his answer as much as heard it. "When that moment comes, we'll face it together. I will understand your decision, whatever it may be. We have been this far and we will continue. Neither of us is alone, Kathryn."

I turned to face him, knowing that every ounce of what little reserve I had left had disappeared. I stroked his beautiful face, wanting to memorize every line and ridge, burning his countenance into my memory forever. I opened my mouth and my voice, choking and cracking, responded to him. "Four months ago, I barely knew your name; now, I can't imagine a day without you."

He pulled me to him, muffling my sobs with his chest. He leaned his cheek onto the top of my head, tenderly kissing the hair piled on top. "Nor I you," he answered with a sigh. "You have been my queen, and I am your warrior. I would do anything to ease your pain and your carry your burdens; you know that. Whatever your choice, I will honor and respect it. Even if time and space separate us, the memories of what we have had will always be there; no one can take away the memories... you will never be alone." He pulled back, gently holding my shoulders. "Now it's time for us to be strong and silent. Neither of us can face any of the crew right now like this, much less everyone else who is waiting for us on Earth. It's time for us to put on the performances of our lives."

He tenderly wiped away my residual tears, willing himself not to shed the ones brimming in his own bright eyes. We knew what would happen next... that this action would have to last us forever. One last time, he leaned down and kissed me... deep and full and eternal. "I will love you throughout this life and the next," he whispered.

I nodded, already steeling myself for the moments and days ahead. "And I, you. We have lived a lifetime in these brief weeks."

He smiled and nodded. "And it's been quite a life, Kathryn Janeway."

He backed away towards the door, pausing briefly for one last look, one last smile, before he turned and left. One life over; another to resume. Lost in a daze, I turned to finish my personal packing before addressing our combined crews one final time... and then to slide through the slipstream to the Alpha Quadrant and Earth.

Voyager's return was hailed with all due pomp and circumstance, her crew immediately elevated to cult hero status. Although officially no celebration was to include the surviving Maquis crew, an undercurrent of idolization followed them everywhere. This was especially true for their leader, the mysterious dark man with the tattoo and the smoldering eyes. Starfleet was not unaware of Chakotay's charisma; in fact, it frightened them. So, before he could become an icon of the masses, a court martial tribunal rapidly reviewed his story and, behind their closed doors, decided that the sooner Chakotay was incarcerated and away from the public, the better.

The entire hearing was a farce, a regular kangaroo court. In the brief time I was given to testify, I defended his actions, citing loyal and exemplary conduct, indicating complete rehabilitation; I recommended that all charges be dismissed. I'm sure my voice came across strong and professional, hiding the raging torment inside me, but I could sense that my efforts were in vain. Three days was all it took, and it was over. In the end, he was sentenced to fifteen years of confinement in the prison colony on Lunar V, effective immediately.

The last time I saw him was as he was being taken away from the hearing room. I had sequestered a seat in the far back row of chairs in the small room on that last day. Our eyes met briefly and his gait slowed momentarily as he passed by me. I dared not show any reaction, but he smiled at me and nodded. "Thank you... for everything," he said softly. And he was gone. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought about him... felt his touch... heard his voice.

When we returned, in those first few weeks, there was an expected tenseness between Mark and me. He knew that something had happened, but Mark has always been a man to respect a person's privacy, so he never questioned, never assumed, never accused. He is a good man, and the last thing I wanted to do was to hurt him; he had been so patient for so long. I begged for his understanding, as I needed time to put the entire incident into perspective, and he respected my request. To this day, I think that he assumed that my reticence and apprehension had to do with some horrors that Voyager had faced, and he did not want me to have to relive my nightmares by telling him every little detail; that I would tell him in my own good time. As the days and weeks passed, the circle of his arms began comforting me more than repelling me; and after a while, I was his wife again. Our lives returned to their pre-Delta Quadrant status.

But it's on nights like tonight, when the skies are ablaze with uncontrolled wild and brilliant energy, touched with a thrill of excitement and danger, that I remember too much. My mind creates dreams of what could have beens, if onlys. I should toss such thoughts aside and be grateful for what I have and all that has happened, thanking the great creative and controlling powers of the universe for everything good in my life. And I am thankful... I truly am. But the winds are restless, and the clouds are flying as free spirits, longing to move to a different place and time.

It's been fifteen years. Tomorrow, Chakotay gets out of prison.

 

~~~ FINIS ~~~


End file.
